His Stolen Bride BN (34 page)

Murdoch shook his head. “You will see him after the wedding, not before.”

Suspicion tightened her belly. Certainly Murdoch would take great pleasure in having
her see Drake chained. Why did he hesitate, then?

“I fear, my lord, that will not do,” she said with mock sweetness. “For you see, Drake
took me as a handfast bride June last. So until he releases me from the union, I am
not free to wed you.”

The assured smirk on Murdoch’s face slid off, replaced by a furious horror.

In two huge steps, he closed the remaining distance between them and grabbed her arm.
With it, he jerked her to her feet and ripped the cloak from her body.

His burning black gaze fell immediately on her swollen belly.

“You let him fuck you?” he shouted, then cursed. “Most like more than once if he got
you with child.”

With his free hand, he struck her violently across one cheek. “You faithless whore!
I thought you had merely gotten fat.”

Pain exploded in her head, and Averyl would have fallen to the stone floor if not
for Murdoch’s unyielding grip holding her upright.

Dangling, Averyl found her feet beneath her and swallowed a lump of bile in her throat.
She must stand strong. She must not fail. Her life and that of her babe’s, as well
as Drake’s future, were at stake.

“Did you hate him even as he rutted upon you? Or did you fall in love?”

Sensing the truth would only free the rest of the restraint holding in his anger,
Averyl parried. “It hardly matters. I’ve come, as you requested. Let us see this thing
done.”

He wound his hand about her throat. “I’ll not have you pining for the wretch after
we wed. The clan will talk.”

As Murdoch squeezed her neck, Averyl choked and gasped for air, trying to work up
enough saliva to spit in his face.

“Do you hear me?” Murdoch squeezed harder. “Agree, or I will cut this child from your
womb and leave you to bleed.”

She believed him.

At Averyl’s nod, Murdoch loosened his grip.

Collapsing to her knees, Averyl drew in huge draughts of air and shivered from the
evil tone of his voice. White specks whirled in her vision. Fear clawed in her gut.
She shoved it aside.

“Free Drake, and I will wed you. I vow you will never see me pine for him. But if
you ever harm my child—or hire someone to harm him—I will tell the rest of your clan
what I know of Lochlan’s murder.”

As a threat, Averyl did not think it would scare Murdoch. After all, she lacked pertinent
facts, like the identity of the man he had paid to see Lochlan murdered. She also
lacked proof. But Murdoch knew that not.

Murdoch laughed. “This foolishness actually aids my cause, you Campbell slut.” He
released her as if he found the contact distasteful. “You see, I do not have Drake
in my dungeon. In fact, I have no notion where to find him. I had hoped to bring you
back to Dunollie, wed and bed you, then find that miserable scoundrel so I might end
his life.”

Averyl gasped. Relief, bitterness, and dread scraped at her like the edge of a blade.
She had endangered herself and her bairn for a ruse, for naught.
Nay!

“With you, I can lure him here to Dunollie,” Murdoch went on. “He may not care overmuch
for saving you, but he will save his babe. Drake got his blighted sense of honor from
our father, God rest his miserable soul.”

With that, Murdoch made his way to the far side of the great hall and called down
the steps. “Malcolm!”

A moment later, a hulk of a Scot, one who rivaled Aric in size, appeared. “My lord?”

“See our guest to her new accommodations…below stairs.”

The dungeon!
“Nay!” she choked, feeling the blood drain from her face.

’Twas dark there. Endless ribbons of black would abound, strangling her with fear.
Specters—or Murdoch—could do away with her at any time.

Before she could run, the burly, rough-faced man dragged her out of the great hall
and down the stairs. She was no match for his strength. Averyl scarcely remained on
her feet before one prodded her through another door, then toward a second steep bank
of stairs that led into malodorous darkness.

Dread pounded in her heart. What would happen now? Would she live to see her babe
born? To see Drake again? Would he come to rescue his babe, only to die?

The giant all but pushed her down the narrow circular stairs. She scarcely kept her
balance with the weight of the babe before her and darkness enveloping her all around.

At the bottom of the stairs, straw crinkled beneath her feet. A vile stench crept
up her nose, seeping into her stomach with a nauseating intensity. The villainous
guard pushed her into a cold stone corner, then shut the iron bars behind them.

Her stomach clenched in fear. “Nay, please! Do not leave me here without light.”

He said naught, simply left her alone with the darkness, memories of her mother’s
violent death, and her terrible fear.

She shivered, wishing for the soothing touch Drake had shown her on a windswept hill
all those months ago, when she’d been overpowered by her fear of the black night.
Its remembrance calmed her. He had made light from darkness that night. And as tears
rolled down her face, Averyl could not ignore the truth: Drake always would make light
from darkness—at least in her heart.

* * * * *

Early February

Drake had come to find peace. And if he found it in death, so be it.

Averyl would not turn ten and eight for two weeks yet. But Drake had grown weary of
waiting for the end, one way or another, of this cloying hate he and Murdoch shared.

Today, one of them would die. Likely, it would be him. Murdoch had allies everywhere.
And though older, Murdoch was a fierce warrior, noted as much for his cruelty as for
his skill.

Drake knew if he, by chance, lived, his future held naught. His clan would never accept
him again. And his temporary bride surely hated him…

Still, this revenge wearied him now, and he wanted it ended for good.

Confined to shadows and secret tunnels, Drake slid within Dunollie’s walls past midnight.
Most of the sentries present upon his abduction of Averyl were pleasingly absent on
this night, making his trek through the winding passages beneath the castle nearly
without risk or constraint.

Such was good fortune, for he would need to save his strength and wits for this last
deadly dance with his enemy, his half brother.

Stealing into the keep, he slid into the hidden opening at the mouth of the solar
to await his prey. Drake’s thoughts turned, as they often did, to Averyl. If he died
today, would she mourn? He gritted his teeth. Most like, she would celebrate this
final departure from her life. And someday, she would take a lover, or perhaps another
husband, the kind, he hoped, who would love her as she so yearned.

Drake swallowed, staring blindly into the room’s dim surroundings, lit by a single
candle. He wished his wife happiness in her future, but the thought of Averyl in another’s
arms made his stomach grind. ’Twas a foolish feeling, for she surely hated him. Such
was no less than he had earned for wedding and abandoning her, turning away from her
while recovering from a near-fatal wound, refusing to succumb to the sort of foolish
feelings of which troubadours sang.

Where was she now? Still with Guilford at Hartwich? And whether he died this day or
not, Drake vowed he would steal from Murdoch, if he must, to ensure Averyl received
enough funds to keep her well forever. ’Twas the least he could do. Besides, he rather
liked the idea of stealing from Murdoch some of what should have been his.

Suddenly, into the shadowed depths of the solar marched Murdoch. Beside him, he dragged
a woman with pale curls. Averyl? he wondered. Though he was certain such was not possible,
he peered at the woman more closely, gut turning.

Her face was turned away. Her size was undeterminable, for the dimness and the gown
that floated about her like a gray storm cloud. But that hair… Could she be another?

Murdoch shoved her to the ground, earning the laughs of three large guards entering
the room, clearly willing and able to protect their master at the slightest hint of
danger.

Drake returned his attention to the woman, wincing as his half brother grabbed her
tangled golden curls and slapped her face. Her back stiffened and her head fell back
from the blow.

Stifling a curse, Drake watched as the woman struggled against Murdoch’s hold. Sneering,
he held her down. With her hands bound behind her, she was no match for the villain.

Murdoch laughed. “How I love to see someone else humiliated for a change. I wonder
if that half-English bastard would want you in his bed if he could see you now?”

Drake’s heart stopped at Murdoch’s words. He peered closer at the woman, praying she
was not Averyl, but could recognize naught from tangles down her back and an overlarge
gown. Still, who else could she be?

With shaking hands, he tried to rein in the panic bursting through him. What was Averyl
doing here at Dunollie?

In the silence, Murdoch slapped the woman again, this time harder. She moaned.

“Have you nothing to say, whore?” Murdoch taunted.

“To such a worthless excuse for a man? Nay.”

Drake’s stomach lurched at the sound of Averyl’s voice. His greedy gaze locked on
to her, even as fear burned in his veins. Dear God, how had she fallen prey to Murdoch?

And what was he to do?

Murdoch walked around Averyl in a slow, predatory circle. “Did Drake allow you to
defy him like this?” When she said naught, he continued, “I know your father did,
the fool.”

“Say nothing bad of my father!”

“Why not? He was foolish enough to grant me use of your dower lands before we wed.
Come spring, I intend to use it as a good MacDougall should.”

“To attack the Campbells?” Her voice trembled.

Murdoch smiled. “What else?”

“Drake was right.” Averyl shouted, “Barbarian!”

He scowled and grabbed a handful of her hair. “Be careful, whore, for I could yet
decide to kill you for the sport of it.”

Drake trembled with the urge to charge the room and rescue Averyl. But he would only
fail now, with those three burly guards by his half brother’s side, and condemn them
both to death. Nay, painful as it was, he must wait and plan—and pray for Averyl’s
safety.

“Brave words for a mere woman.” Murdoch tossed her a speculative glare. “Perhaps I
shall make you my whore as well,” he said with wicked glee.

Drake felt another chill creep over his skin. Murdoch’s idea of pleasure was harsh
on any woman, but one with Averyl’s ideals of love would no doubt find it unbearable.

Clenching his fists, Drake knew he must act soon.

“Aye, that might be an idea,” Murdoch continued. “How that would torture Drake!”

“I will kill you upon my first opportunity,” she vowed.

Murdoch grabbed Averyl’s neck in a vicious vice. “Do not think I will be foolish enough
to give you that chance.”

“You are nae a man, but a monster!”

With fury heating his eyes, Murdoch warned, “Watch your words well, or I will prove
you right in ways you never imagined.”

“I have no doubt you could.”

Drake shuddered at the hate in her tone. For that, Murdoch may well punish her, using
terrible means she could scarcely imagine. He wished he could find some way to warn
her against such reckless words without revealing himself. But such was not possible.
He would simply have to find a way to rescue her before aught happened.

Murdoch sneered. “For your poison tongue, I will teach you the meaning of pain, but
I will wait until Drake watches. Such torture to his mind will please me greatly.”

“Rot in hell!” Averyl shot back.

Murdoch grabbed her arm, pulling her to her knees. “The only one who will do that
is your
husband
. When I find him and he learns of your captivity, he will save you.”

“He will not,” she argued.

Murdoch narrowed his dark eyes. “Once he learns I lured you here with a bargain to
free him from my dungeon in exchange for wedding me? Nay, Drake will not let you suffer
long for your sacrifice. And when he comes, I will be waiting.”

Drake clenched his fists so tightly they trembled. Averyl had come here to exchange
her freedom for his? After all he had done to her? Dear God, why?

He felt stunned—and humbled. And now Murdoch intended to use her as bait to lure him
to his death.

Wanting to tear Murdoch apart limb from limb, Drake kept to the shadows, vowing vengeance
for whatever ills he performed on Averyl. But such would have to be done without risk
to her. And that required planning.

With one last cracking slap to Averyl’s cheek, Murdoch slammed from the room, leaving
a battered Averyl to be dragged away by Murdoch’s mercenaries.

And leaving Drake more ready than ever to put his plan in motion, have his revenge,
and reclaim his wife.

* * * * *

Drake watched the eastern edge of the predawn sky turn from black to a midnight blue
tinged with gray as he stood silently before his mother’s grave.

Uncertainty swirling within him, he stared at the stone marker for long moments before
kneeling, knowing not what to say.

Slowly, he whispered, “Why did you never tell me the truth? Why did I never see your
hurt?” He shook his head, his chest aching. “You let me believe the worst.”

Drake was faintly aware of healing tears squeezing from the corners of his eyes, making
hot paths down his face.

His very life had changed in knowing that perhaps his father had been as much to blame
for the marriage’s demise as his mother. His perception of the past, of the selfishness
and deceit of women—all of that was in question now.

If Averyl’s actions to save him reflected the true nature of love, they cast a shadow
over the marriage his parents had shared. Neither had given the other a moment of
happiness, had never really given of themselves, to their own detriment. Had they
loved at all, or merely struggled for power in a relationship borne of lust?